


traveled down a road and back again

by sonlali



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: 5+1 Things, Christmas, F/F, F/M, Flashbacks, Gen, M/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, exes to friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:34:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27672760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonlali/pseuds/sonlali
Summary: Five Christmases throughout Rachel's past that she spent with Patrick, plus one she spends together with Alexis at Patrick and David's cottage.
Relationships: Alexis Rose/Rachel, Patrick Brewer & Rachel, Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Patrick Brewer/Rachel
Comments: 46
Kudos: 80
Collections: Schitt's Creek: Frozen Over (2020)





	traveled down a road and back again

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [SCFrozenOver2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SCFrozenOver2020) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Patrick's and Rachel's Christmases through the years, especially how they grow separately and together after Patrick comes out. Perhaps just a few years, or perhaps a look into the far future. 
> 
> Many thanks to ria for being such a lovely and thoughtful beta! <3

Alexis raises her hand to knock on the cottage door, and Rachel reflexively clasps the hand holding hers tighter. Alexis’ hand freezes mid-air and she turns to Rachel, her lips twisted in a sympathetic smile.

“Babe, I thought you were ready?”

“No, no, I am, I am.” Rachel bites her lip anxiously, unsure if she’s trying to convince Alexis or herself. “I _am_. It’s just… I haven’t seen Patrick since the wedding.”

Since she got together with Alexis at Patrick and David’s wedding, Rachel and Patrick have called, FaceTimed, and texted frequently, but she hasn’t been back to Schitt’s Creek and was out of town when Patrick and David visited Alexis in New York this past spring. It feels impossibly strange to think about how she hasn’t actually seen Patrick in person for over a year. It’s the longest she has ever gone without seeing him since they met at ten years old.

“This is going to be my first time seeing him with his _husband_ in their _home_. I feel a little bit like the ghost of Christmas past, I guess.” She forces out a weak chuckle.

“Okay, Rach? First of all, his _husband_ is just David and he literally doesn’t matter, so just forget about that. And secondly, you and Patrick are totally on good terms now! You’re, like, little besties again. Anyway, I will be here with you.” Alexis boops her on the nose with each word for emphasis. “Every step of the way. Okay?”

Rachel can’t prevent the smile from spreading across her face. Alexis’ boundless confidence and assurance that everything will work out is infectious. This time, she’s the one who raises her hand, and she knocks without hesitation. 

***

“Patty! Hey, Patty!” Rachel spots Patrick’s unruly curls from half a block away and starts chasing after him, her booted feet sliding in the freshly-fallen snow. “Pa- _trick_!”

He finally turns around, waving enthusiastically. “Hey, Rach!”

She skids to a stop in front of him, her breath puffing in little clouds between them in the frigid air. Her right foot slips beneath her as she hits a patch of ice, and Patrick grabs her arm to steady her. Rachel feels a little thrill of excitement at the touch. 

“Hey, Patty!”

“Hi, Rachel.” Patrick smiles, his eyes warm and friendly. 

“I, um, I got something for you.” Rachel is glad her face is already flushed from the cold to disguise her embarrassed flush. She ducks her head and fumbles with the zip on her backpack.

“For what?” Patrick sounds so confused that Rachel looks up from her backpack to frown at him.

“For Christmas, silly!” 

“Oh!” Patrick’s mouth drops into a ridiculous little ‘O’ shape, and the butterflies in Rachel’s tummy flutter a bit more. “You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to!” Rachel finally retrieves the carefully-wrapped package from her bag and hands it over. It had taken her three tries to get the wrapping right because she refused to accept her mother’s assistance. She wanted to do this on her own even if it resulted in her surrounded by a haphazard pile of scraps of wrapping paper and tape. 

Patrick looks down at the gift hesitantly, as if he fears he may be holding a bomb covered in reindeer wrapping paper. “But I didn’t— I didn’t get anything for you.”

“That’s okay, Patty. Just open it.” Rachel smiles encouragingly. 

Patrick unwraps the present slowly and carefully, cocking his head to the side when he uncovers the papier-mâché baseball. 

“I— I made it for you. Because— baseball.” She winces at her nervous stammering and wishes she was anywhere else but here. 

“Well, thanks, Rach. That’s, uh, that’s really nice of you. I have to go home now. My mom gets upset if I’m late. But, uh, thanks a lot!” He turns and runs away before she can say another word.

Rachel feels embarrassed and confused, suddenly unsure if maybe she crossed some sort of line in their friendship. She looks down at her boots and blinks rapidly to fight the sting in her eyes. 

“Merry Christmas, Patrick.” Rachel says the words to her boots and sighs, turning around to walk home. 

***

Rachel picks at a loose thread in her scarf anxiously as they all stand in the entryway to Patrick and David’s cottage going through the typical greetings of _How was the flight?_ and _It’s so good to see you!_ and _Wow, it sure is starting to get cold out there, huh?_ and _Oh my GOD, chill, David! We’ll take off our boots before we reach the carpet!_

Patrick hugs Rachel in greeting, squeezing her tight and whispering, “I’m so glad you’re here, Rach.” His hugs feel the same as they always did, their arms wrapping around each other easily and comfortably. Rachel notes that he doesn’t smell the same as she remembers and wonders if David has bought him new cologne or aftershave. Whatever it is, it suits him. Marriage suits him, Rachel thinks. He looks happy and relaxed, comfortable in a way Rachel associates with baseball games and open mic events. 

Patrick offers to take their coats and David directs them to where they can place their boots. They move around each other in a familiar, practiced rhythm, Patrick resting a hand on the small of David’s back, David leaning into his touch. Alexis grabs Rachel’s shoulder to steady herself as she removes her very cute, very impractical booties. In turn, Rachel leans into Alexis for balance as she hops around in her socked feet to avoid stepping in the wet spots forming on the floor from the snow dripping off their boots. 

David leads them all into an impeccably decorated living room with a gorgeous Christmas tree standing proudly in one corner and a fire burning merrily across from a loveseat and two arm chairs. Alexis immediately skips over to the tree to examine the ornaments while David stands beside her supervising with a half annoyed, half endeared expression on his face. 

Rachel lingers in the doorway next to Patrick and studies the impossibly fond look he is radiating across the room toward his husband. He eventually becomes aware of her gaze and tilts his head in question. “What?”

“You look really happy, Patty,” she responds simply. 

“Oh my GOD!” Alexis interrupts the moment with a delighted shriek. “Rachel, look at the cutest little penguin ornament David has! It totally doesn’t match his aesthetic at all, but he didn’t even hide it in the back because Mrs. Brewer bought it! Isn’t that _sooo_ sweet?!” 

Rachel laughs helplessly at the sheer joy on Alexis’ face at the opportunity to tease her brother, but after a moment, she feels Patrick’s eyes on her and turns her attention back to him. “Something on your mind, Patrick?”

He gives her a knowing smile. “You look really happy, too, Rach.”

***

Rachel knows the numbers by heart, can dial them with her eyes closed, but right now, she’s staring intently at the midnight blue cordless phone her parents got her for her last birthday as she painstakingly punches in each number. She bites at the nail on her left thumb as the line rings, uncertainty filling her body. She almost hopes the call goes unanswered, but after three rings, there’s a pleasant and familiar voice.

“Brewer residence, Marcy speaking.”

Rachel clears her throat. “Oh, um, h–hi, Mrs. Brewer. It’s—”

“Oh, hello, Rachel, dear! Merry Christmas!” Mrs. Brewer’s voice is, as always, so warm and welcoming, and Rachel feels a hot flush of embarrassment wash over her. She shouldn’t have called. She’s interrupting them on Christmas Day, and Mrs. Brewer is too polite to say anything.

“Uh, Merry Christmas to you, too. I… um…”

“I’m afraid Patrick isn’t home right now, sweetheart. He went out with his cousins to play a game of shinny.”

“Oh, okay. I— sorry for calling.” Rachel bites at her thumb again and winces as a drop of blood blooms at her cuticle. “We just— we had made plans. He was going to call this morning…” She casts a glance at the digital clock on her bedside table, the glowing neon numbers flashing 2:32 at her mockingly. “It’s not a big deal. I just—”

“Oh, Rachel.” Mrs. Brewer’s voice is so kind that Rachel both wants to burrow into the gentle compassion and squirm away. “I’m sure he just forgot. Teenage boys, you know? I swear he’d forget his head if it wasn’t attached to his neck. Don’t take it personally, dear. I can let him know you called when he—”

“No!” Rachel shouts. “I mean, no, thank you. That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Brewer. It’s not even a big deal at all.”

“Rachel—” 

“Um, I think I hear my dad calling for me downstairs,” Rachel lies. “So I’m just gonna— Merry Christmas!” Rachel ends the call before Mrs. Brewer has a chance to say anything else. She can’t stand to hear any more of this impossibly sweet woman’s reassurances without combusting from humiliation. 

Rachel kind of hates herself right now for how much she had been looking forward to this call all week. Patrick’s not even her boyfriend, not really. They haven’t even kissed yet. They’ve had a couple dates where he was very sweet and they somewhat awkwardly held hands, but Rachel likes him _so_ much. She always has, really, and she kind of thought something was about to happen between them, and he hadn’t even remembered that they planned to speak this morning. 

Rachel fights back the sting of tears and rolls over on her bed to face the wall, staring at a chip in the paint from that time when they were thirteen and she and Patrick were tossing a baseball around her bedroom even though they knew they shouldn’t in the house. Patrick had helped her cover up the damage until all that remained was this tiny chip. He reassured her that he would take the blame if her mom got mad at her, and then he told stupid jokes until she laughed. 

Now, Rachel glares at the chip in the wall, determined to be angry instead of hurt, and eventually she drifts into a fitful nap. 

***

“I’ll go make tea. Rachel, Alexis, sit down, make yourselves at home.” Patrick gestures to the loveseat, which David promptly flops onto. He grimaces at Patrick, sucking his lips into his mouth. 

“Um, actually…”

“Hot chocolate for you, I know, David.” Rachel can tell that Patrick is trying to look annoyed, but he just looks fondly amused. 

“Ooh, um, Patrick?” Alexis drops onto the other side of the loveseat, elbowing David to make more room and batting her eyelashes at Patrick. “Tea isn’t _really_ my thing.” 

“Two hot chocolates, two teas.” Patrick smiles at Rachel with a ridiculous attempt at a wink. “Right, Rach?”

“Yep, tea’s good for me. Thanks, Patty. Need a hand?”

“No, no, I got it. Go make yourself comfortable. That is, if those two will let you sit.” He gestures to where David and Alexis are now shoving at each other, each trying to claim ownership over the entire loveseat.

Patrick retreats to the kitchen, and Rachel moves to the fireplace, drawn to the photos lined neatly along the mantel. There’s a photo of David leaning across the counter at Rose Apothecary that she’s seen before, one of Patrick and David together at the motel that she recognizes as from Mr. Rose’s last-minute Christmas party, a beautiful shot of them dancing on their wedding day, and one of the Rose family plus Patrick and Stevie standing outside the motel. 

Patrick looks so happy in each of the pictures. Rachel waits for the melancholic feeling she sometimes gets when she thinks about how unhappy Patrick had been when they were together, but all she feels is a deep wave of happiness for Patrick and the beautiful life he has built. She’s smiling at a photo of Patrick and Stevie laughing together while David stands off to the side in a baseball uniform, a dramatic pout twisting his features, when something catches her eye. 

Rachel’s hand is reaching for the frame before she can stop herself, a soft gasp escaping her lips. She knows this photo. She has a copy of it herself. It’s a photo of herself and Patrick, aged seventeen, at a county fair. Patrick’s wearing a baseball cap tilted at a ridiculous angle atop chaotic curls. Rachel is wearing a faded t-shirt from their high school debate team and sticking her bright blue tongue out at the camera. Patrick has an arm draped loosely over her shoulders, a colorful stick wrapped in an enormous cloud of cotton candy held in his hand, and a crooked smile on his face. 

“That was such a fun day.” Rachel startles at Patrick’s voice. She hadn’t even realized he’d returned to the living room. 

“Patrick.” Rachel blinks several times, staring in disbelief at this memory from so long ago. “Why is this here?”

Patrick’s head cocks to the side like a puppy’s. “What do you mean? I love this photo.”

“But Patrick, why here?” Rachel gestures at the rest of the photos, all from the past few years since he arrived in Schitt’s Creek. 

“Because it’s a good memory, and I wanted to see it?” Patrick chuckles. “Why shouldn’t I have it here?”

“Because… I don’t know! Because it’s us, and we were… not right.” Rachel tears her gaze away from the photo when Patrick doesn’t respond for several long seconds. He’s looking at her with a puzzled expression on his face. 

“Rach, yes, we were not right as a couple, but you were my best friend for most of my life.” Patrick shrugs one shoulder and rubs at the back of his neck. “And I like to think that we have been rebuilding that friendship. I— Rachel, I love you. I always have, and I love our memories together. Not all of them, obviously. But this was a great day, and I like being reminded of it — and you — when I look at these photos of my favorite people.”

Patrick says all this like it should be so obvious, and Rachel supposes maybe it is. They really do have a lot of amazing memories together from over the years. 

A smile blossoms across Rachel’s face, and she places the framed photo gently back on the mantel. She nudges Patrick in the ribs. 

“You sentimental sap.”

Patrick laughs, his head thrown back in that way he does only when he’s really happy. “Yeah, I guess I am. Only for the things that really count.”

***

“Rachel?” There’s a light tapping at the door. Rachel pulls the blankets up over her head and pretends to be sleeping, hoping that her dad goes away. “Buttercup?”

Rachel considers continuing to ignore him, but the soft sigh on the other side of the door forces her to reluctantly sit up and kick the blankets off. The thing is, it’s not even a manipulation tactic — the childhood nickname and the sigh — her dad wouldn’t do that. Mom would, absolutely, but not Dad. Her father is the sweetest and most gentle man she’s ever known, and he is obviously concerned about her.

“Come in.” Rachel draws her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around her legs, focusing her gaze on the chipped paint on the wall. 

Her father cracks open the door and peeks his head inside. At Rachel’s nod, he comes the rest of the way inside and takes a seat on the end of her bed. Rachel fights to maintain her sullen mood, but part of her wants her dad to hug her so she can cry into his cheesy holiday sweater. 

“What’s up, Buttercup?”

Rachel blinks away the sting of tears and shrugs.

“You’ve been holed up in here since you arrived. Something bothering you? Did your mom call?” At Rachel’s scowl, her father continues. “Okay, something at school then? Did you decide to change your major again?” Rachel rolls her eyes as her dad chuckles to himself.

“No, Dad, I haven’t changed my major again. And _nothing_ is wrong. I’m _fine_.”

“Of course you are. But if you weren’t, you know you can talk to your ol’ pop any time, right?”

“I know, Dad.” Rachel forces a smile.

“Is Patrick back in town yet? How about you call and invite him over?”

Rachel winces. She knew this was coming, but she wasn’t prepared for the swirl of hurt and anger roiling in her stomach. 

“He— we broke up, actually. Last week.” 

“Oh, Rachel—” Her father’s face falls into a frown so quickly, it’s almost comical. Rachel cuts him off before he can say anything else.

“It’s fine. It’s whatever. It’s just— I already have a present for him and everything, and what am I supposed to do with that, you know? It’s ju-just really rude to do this so soon before Christmas, don’t you think? Really inconsiderate.”

Her father nods solemnly. “Yes, I agree.”

“I didn’t—” Rachel rolls her eyes upwards to prevent the tears from spilling over. “I didn’t even see it coming. I had no— no idea. I feel so stupid.”

Her father opens his arms, and Rachel falls into them immediately, finally allowing the tears to escape her eyes and soak into the shoulder of his soft, fuzzy reindeer sweater.

She cries for a long time, and her father pats her back soothingly and says nothing. When she finally pulls away, her face feels swollen and hot. She wipes at her cheeks and sniffles.

“I don’t even know why.”

“Sometimes it just isn’t right, Buttercup. Want to go downstairs and bake some cookies? Or would you rather stay in bed for a while, and I can leave you alone?”

“Cookies.” Rachel nods decisively. She’s not going to let Patrick ruin her Christmas. “Definitely cookies.”

***

After the conversation peters out, Patrick suggests they all play a game, which is met with lukewarm enthusiasm from both Rose siblings (“Four _really_ isn’t the ideal number for gameplay.” and “Um, yeah, uh huh. That would _totally_ be so cute for us.” from David and Alexis, respectively.) Rachel proposes Pictionary, remembering that she and Patrick used to enjoy playing it with their friends, but after several rounds of play with both sets of couples still at zero points, she’s seriously questioning her suggestion.

“Maybe we could switch up the teams?” Rachel offers, which turns out to be an even greater error in judgment when the game abruptly turns aggressively competitive. 

“Ooh, ooh! _Pretty Woman_!” Alexis shouts, bringing David and Alexis’ team into the lead by one point. 

Rachel squints at David’s sketch of a woman. He’s undoubtedly a talented artist, but she’s not sure how Alexis was able to correctly identify the film just from a woman’s face.

Patrick looks like he’s about ready to fling his pencil across the room. “How?! _How_?!” 

“Um, Patrick? That’s obviously Julia Roberts.” Alexis rolls her eyes and glances at Rachel as if to say _Can you believe him?_

“Okay.” Rachel nods slowly. “But how did you know which of her movies this represents?”

“Exactly! Thank you, Rachel.” Patrick throws his hands up in the air, while David snorts out a laugh.

“Right, because this could _really_ be confused with _Notting Hill_ Julia. Good one.” David looks to Alexis, who also starts to laugh.

“Oh my god, imagine thinking this was _Notting Hill_ Julia!” 

David declares the game over when, in the next round, Patrick immediately guesses _With a Little Help From My Friends_ from Rachel’s messy scribbles. 

“Come on, David,” Patrick teases. “It’s _obviously_ a bowl of chips and a baseball.”

“What is _not_ obvious is how you manage to bring sports references into every topic.” David crosses his arms across his chest sulkily and looks to Alexis for support, but she has turned her attention to her phone, thoroughly disinterested in the game since it’s not her turn. 

“Oh, it’s not a sports reference.” Rachel can’t help the smile spreading across her face. When she read the clue, the memory instantly came to her — a baseball sailing across her childhood bedroom and crashing into the wall, Patrick helping to paint over the cracks until all that remained was a tiny chip, just under the windowsill. 

She remembers the way Patrick had looked at her, his eyes wide and serious, and insisted that he would fix it, that he would always be there to help when something goes wrong because “that’s what friends do — they help each other — and we’re always going to be friends, Rach.” Then he had started singing _With a Little Help From My Friends_ in a silly voice to make her laugh. 

Rachel wasn’t sure he would remember that day, or that he would make the connection from her hasty drawing, but Patrick has always had an uncanny ability to decipher Rachel’s thoughts, even when she’s having a hard time expressing them clearly. He flashes her a cheeky grin now, his eyes dancing with amusement, and she knows he remembers that day just as well as she does. 

Alexis suddenly squeals from beside her, tossing her phone aside and smacking Rachel’s arm happily. 

“Ooh, look, David! It’s not a sports thing. It’s an _inside joke_! Aw, isn’t that so sweet?” Alexis leans forward and presses a kiss to Rachel’s cheek, blinking her eyes at Rachel in an attempt at a wink. She lowers her voice so only Rachel can hear her now. “Love this friendship for you, babe.”

***

Rachel sits down on the end of their bed to remove her shoes, scowling at the sound of the shower turning on behind the closed bathroom door. They only just walked in the door moments ago, and Patrick has already shut himself in the bathroom away from her. 

He’s been in a foul mood all evening, barely speaking to Rachel and sitting himself between his father and one of his cousins during dinner. Rachel had initially been excited when Patrick invited her to join the Brewer family for Christmas Eve dinner, but she can’t help but wonder if he regrets extending the invitation. 

Rachel spent most of the evening with Mrs. Brewer and a couple of Patrick’s aunts, her own temper bubbling to the surface as the night wore on. Mrs. Brewer kept shooting her concerned looks, obviously taking note of the way Patrick was speaking to everyone in the room aside from Rachel. She carefully avoided Mrs. Brewer’s gaze each time she caught her glancing between her son and Rachel with a worried expression, laughing too loudly at Aunt Melissa’s jokes in an attempt to convey _nothing to worry about here, just a perfectly normal couple who can’t manage to go a day without arguments or painful silences, perfectly fine._

The water switches off, and Rachel steels herself for the conversation they need to have. She knows Patrick is going to try to go straight to bed. He’ll turn off the lamp on his nightstand and roll over with his back to Rachel. He’ll say “It’s been a long day, Rach. Can we talk about this tomorrow?” because Rachel is living in her own personal fucking _Groundhog’s Day_. 

Things will be going well — they joke with each other and go on hikes together and go to bars with their friends to watch the game, and it all fits. They fit together because they’ve been together for so many years, but then it goes wrong. Rachel is never quite sure why, but the same pattern keeps repeating itself. Patrick will stay later at the office, he’ll come home in a bad mood and not want to talk about it, Rachel will match his short temper with her stony silence, and then one day it will all blow up in an argument. Sometimes they fight and make up; sometimes they fight and break up. 

Rachel isn’t sure which will happen this time. She isn’t sure which she wants to happen.

She watches as the doorknob turns and the bathroom door swings open. Patrick’s eyes widen slightly at the sight of her sitting on the end of the bed, still fully dressed in the sparkly dress she’d purchased specifically for this Christmas Eve dinner. She watches as the mask drops over his features as he meets her gaze, his eyes hardening and jaw setting, and he squares his shoulders like he’s preparing for battle. When he says her name, it’s like he’s brandishing a weapon.

“Rachel.”

Rachel dons her own armor and raises her sword. 

“Patrick.”

***

“Patrick, do you need a hand?” 

Patrick looks up from the tray where he’s piling their empty mugs at Rachel’s question. 

“Now that you mention it—” He shoots a pointed look at David. “It would be nice if _someone_ helped me finish up dinner.”

Rachel adds her mug to the tray and stands up from her chair. “I’ll help.”

“Oh, no, Rach—” 

“That is _so_ generous of you, Rachel.” Patrick and David speak at the same time, and Rachel laughs at the fond smile Patrick is failing to bite back as David’s attention immediately returns to Alexis’ phone where she is showing him… something. Rachel isn’t actually sure what Alexis and David are talking about, but she noticed a while ago that whenever Alexis is speaking to her brother, they both tend to slip into a style of communication composed largely of bickering and gesticulations and only really understood by fellow Roses. 

Alexis seems happy to be back with her brother, and Rachel wants to give them time to catch up while she does the same with Patrick, so she follows him into the kitchen and begins rinsing out the mugs as Patrick peers into a slow cooker at their dinner. 

“Smells good,” Rachel remarks as Patrick removes the lid. 

“Thanks.” Patrick smiles and bumps his shoulder into Rachel’s playfully. “You really don’t have to help out. You’re a guest.”

Rachel rolls her eyes. “Patty, I didn’t come in here to do your housework. I wanted to talk to you.”

Patrick’s eyebrows shoot up, and he turns to face her fully. “Okay.” He draws the word out slowly, his hands jamming into the pockets of his jeans.

“You don’t have to look so scared, Patrick, god!” Rachel bites at her thumbnail, feeling nervous suddenly, unsure what to say next, but then Patrick’s fingers are wrapping softly around her wrist. 

“You’ll make it bleed if you don’t knock that off.” He tugs her hand from her mouth, and Rachel sighs. The gesture is so achingly familiar that tears spring to her eyes unbidden. “Hey, hey, Rach, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing! _Fuck_ , nothing is wrong.” Patrick’s fingers are still wrapped lightly around her wrist, and she shifts to lace their fingers together without thinking. “You know I don’t regret it, right?”

“Rach…” Patrick shakes his head, but Rachel gives his hand a squeeze and keeps talking. 

“I mean, sure, I wish we had done a better job communicating, but I don’t regret our time together. We had a lot of fun, and I’ve always been able to count on you. I think—” Rachel sighs, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear impatiently. “You know I always knew I was bi?”

“ _What_?!” Patrick’s mouth drops open in surprise, and he looks so ridiculous that a giggle bubbles up from Rachel’s chest and suddenly she can’t stop laughing. “I’m sorry, what is happening here?” Patrick sounds exactly like David at that moment, so Rachel laughs even harder, laughs until she can barely breathe, laughs until Patrick joins in too, until they’re both doubled over in near hysterics. 

When Rachel is finally able to catch her breath, she realizes this conversation really doesn’t need to be so difficult. It’s just Rachel and Patrick, best friends since the fifth grade, only a lot more comfortable in their own skin, a lot more honest, and a whole lot queerer. 

“Yeah, I always knew, ever since we were kids. Remember Jenny Summers?”

Patrick frowns. “Yeah, she kissed me on the cheek when we were eleven, and you ripped the head off her Barbie. My mom said you were jealous.”

“She wasn’t wrong.” Rachel smirks as the realization crosses over Patrick’s face.

“Huh. You never… I mean, not that you have to, but, um…”

“Yeah, in hindsight, it would have been nice if we’d talked about it at some point. Probably would have helped us both a lot.” Rachel smiles weakly, and Patrick rubs a hand along the back of his neck. “I didn’t— I know it probably doesn’t really make a lot of sense, but I guess I never really thought it mattered. I liked _you_ , and dating girls just seemed like something I didn’t need to pursue.”

“What about when we were, um, not together?” 

Rachel exhales a long breath through her nose. She’s asked herself the same question a hundred times. “I don’t know. I had a few crushes, but I also always had crushes on guys. I kissed a few girls in college, but it just… I don’t know. It just never happened, and I never pursued anything. I was usually just pursuing you.”

“Huh.” Patrick repeats, and Rachel can see the wheels turning in his brain. She knows he’ll spend hours going over this conversation in his head, trying to piece together every moment of their history and make sense of everything. Rachel grabs his hand again and squeezes it to stop the thought spiral he’s undoubtedly falling into. 

“Patty, stop thinking for a sec and listen to what I’m trying to say here. I’m happy, really happy, and you are too. We took the scenic route, but we got there in the end, yeah? We got to where we needed to be, and I’m pretty fuckin’ proud of both of us, aren’t you? So I guess I just wanted to say…” Rachel shrugs one shoulder and grins. “Thank you. For being my friend.” 

When Patrick meets her gaze again, his eyes are shining with unshed tears, but he’s smiling that familiar upside down grin that says _movie nights with extra popcorn_ and _tickets to the Jays’ game_ and _I can fix it, Rach._ Rachel knows then that for everything that has changed, their friendship still remains, standing firm and unmoving, and it’s stronger and brighter than ever before.

***

Rachel’s watching _A Charlie Brown Christmas_ when her phone starts vibrating loudly against her bedside table. 

“Jesus,” Rachel mumbles under her breath before casting a guilty look at the photo of Granny Maggie on her desk. “I mean, happy birthday, Jesus.” She rolls her eyes at herself and picks up the phone, nearly dropping it again at the name lighting up the screen. 

She slams her laptop shut, interrupting Charlie Brown’s plaintive missive about the sad, little tree, and stares down at her phone in disbelief. She hasn’t spoken to Patrick since that awful day in Schitt’s Creek when he sat her down in a grubby motel room and said two words that shook the foundation of her entire life thus far.

She hesitates for so long that the call nearly goes to voicemail, but something — curiosity or habit or maybe just fucking Christmas cheer — makes her swipe to answer at the last second. 

“Patrick?”

“Rachel?” He sounds surprised that she picked up. Maybe he had been hoping she wouldn’t. Rachel waits for him to continue speaking, but the line remains silent except for some background noise. It sounds like he’s at a holiday party. There’s Christmas music and cheerful voices calling out. 

“Yup. It’s me,” she finally says when she can no longer stand the silence. 

“Right.” Patrick seems to shake out of a trance at her voice. “Right, hey, Rach. I just wanted, uh, I wanted to say Merry Christmas.”

“Oh my _GOD_ , David!” A woman’s voice rings out suddenly. Rachel thinks she might recognize it as the woman she briefly befriended at the motel — Alexis, Patrick’s boyfriend’s sister. “Nobody wants to listen to this crappy holiday album. Everyone knows that _All I Want for Christmas Is You_ is the only good song on it!”

There’s an outraged shout. “If you were listening _properly_ , you would recognize how—”

“Uh, sorry, hang on.” Patrick’s voice in her ear drowns out the rest of the man’s — David, that was David’s voice — sentence. There’s a soft click of a door shutting and now Rachel can only hear the sound of Patrick’s breathing through the phone. “Sorry about that. Dav— Mr. Rose decided to throw a last-minute Christmas party at the motel, and it’s… well, anyway.”

“Sounds fun,” Rachel says shortly.

“Yeah, uh, yeah, it is. I…”

“Why are you calling, Patrick?” Rachel shuts her eyes, suddenly exhausted. 

“I wanted to say Merry—”

“Okay, but why are you _really_ calling?” Rachel interrupts. 

Patrick doesn’t say anything for a long moment. She can practically hear him shrug, rub a hand along the back of his neck, shuffle his feet uncomfortably. 

“I just… it’s my first Christmas away from— um, and I—” he sighs noisily, and all at once, Rachel realizes something. She briefly debates making him say it, but the anxiety is practically radiating across the phone line, so she takes pity on him. 

“You haven’t told your parents yet, and I’m the closest thing you can get to home right now.” Rachel speaks levelly, but her heart is aching in her chest.

“Wow, um. Huh.” Patrick lets out a breathy chuckle. “Hearing you say it like that makes me sound like a real dick, like I’m just using you as a conduit because I’m too much of a coward to actually talk to my parents.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“No, I know you didn’t. I’m just realizing how much of an asshole I am.” Patrick sniffs quietly, and Rachel wonders if he’s crying. Maybe it’s just cold outside and his nose is running. 

“You’re only just now realizing that?”

“Touché.” There’s a long pause. “It’s not just that I miss my parents. I miss you, too, Rach.”

Rachel scoffs, rolling her eyes even though Patrick can’t see her.

“I do, Rachel. I know I’ve done a really shitty job of showing it, but I have been missing you. I didn’t— I shouldn’t have cut you out like that. That wasn’t fair to you, and it wasn’t even—” There’s a heavy sigh. “It wasn’t even what I wanted. Not really. I guess I wanted a clear divide between my life before and my life now, and that meant— Well, I stupidly thought that meant cutting you out completely. But I still missed you.”

Rachel doesn’t say anything, but Patrick correctly interprets her silence. 

“I’m serious, Rach. I can’t tell you how many times I reached for my phone to text you some stupid joke or... whatever. I fucked up. Really bad, and I hurt you. And I’m so sorry, Rachel, but I do miss you.”

Rachel swallows down a sob. “Fuck you, Patrick.”

“Yeah, okay. I deserve that.”

“Of course you fucking do, you fucking dick. You’ve been a real shitty friend, you know? Forget our relationship. We both obviously did a pretty pisspoor job of communicating there, and we were wrong for each other. For a lot of reasons, and also one pretty big one. I see that now. But first and foremost, we were supposed to be friends. We always said that. _Always_. Friends first.”

“I know.” Patrick’s voice is so quiet that Rachel almost doesn’t hear him speak. “I’d like to fix that. If you’ll let me. I’d like a chance to start over with our friendship. Or maybe ‘start over’ isn’t right. I want to do better with our friendship this time.”

Rachel’s eyes fall on her desk again, this time skipping over the photo of Granny Maggie and landing on a picture of herself and Patrick at the county fair. 

Rachel realizes she’s been quiet too long when Patrick speaks again, his voice sad and resigned. “I get it.” 

“I need some time, Patty.” She draws her knees up to her chest and grips the phone tightly. “I… I think I want to try again with our friendship too, but. Not now, not yet.”

“Okay, yeah, yeah. Of course, Rachel.” Patrick is practically tripping over his words, and Rachel smiles to herself, imagining his big, stupid, earnest puppy-dog eyes. 

“Give me some time, and we can— we can talk later, okay? Merry Christmas, Patrick.”

“Merry Christmas, Rachel.”

***

After dinner, they all retreat to a room David calls _the den_ to watch cheesy Christmas movies, everyone crowding onto the same sofa under a huge, fluffy blanket. David promptly wraps himself around Patrick like a friendly barnacle, and Alexis drops herself daintily into Rachel’s lap, draping an arm around her shoulders and pressing a fingertip to Rachel’s nose with a quiet _boop_.

Rachel and Patrick are squished in the middle of the couch, pressed shoulder to shoulder, and Rachel turns to Patrick with a wry smile, elbowing him in the ribs until he laughs brightly. Patrick looks from David to Alexis and back to Rachel, his eyebrows lifting as if to say _guess we’re stuck with them, huh?_

Rachel holds her hand out, palm up, and Patrick grabs it immediately, lacing their fingers together and squeezing.

“Love you, Rach,” he whispers.

“Love you, too, Patty.”

“Okay, so will we be talking through the _entire_ movie or…?” David snaps.

“Ugh, shush, David! They’re having a cute little moment here.” Alexis kisses Rachel’s temple and flutters her eyelashes in a double wink. “Merry Christmas, Rachel.”

“Merry Christmas, Alexis.” Rachel kisses Alexis’ cheek and turns back to Patrick. “Merry Christmas, Patrick.”

“Merry Christmas—” 

“Oh my god!” David interrupts with a drawn out groan. “Yes, yes, Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night. Can we move on now, _please_?”

Rachel presses her face into Alexis’ collarbones, laughing helplessly as Alexis tries to reach across the sofa to smack David’s arm and Patrick kisses the scowl off his husband’s face. She allows her eyes to slip closed as warmth fills her chest and bubbles out in buoyant giggles. 

She flips back through her memories of previous Christmases, and sighs happily. This may be her best Christmas yet.

**Author's Note:**

> a million thank yous to ICMezzo and Distractivate for all of your hard work organizing this wonderful fest! <3
> 
> come say hi on tumblr [@landofsonlali](https://landofsonlali.tumblr.com/)!


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